The next day.
Sunlight pierced through drifting clouds and bathed the dome of the Kanagawa Prefecture Sports Arena in radiant brilliance.
This venue—where countless basketball dreams were born, shattered, and reborn—seemed especially resplendent today.
June 20th.
The final day of the Kanagawa Prefecture High School Basketball Preliminaries.
From the group stage to the knockouts, relentless battles had carved away pretenders and revealed contenders.
Today, everything would be decided.
Kanagawa's basketball landscape would be rewritten.
9:30 AM — Basketball Gym 1
The gym was already alive with energy.
Though there was still half an hour before tip-off, the spectator stands were nearly full. Conversations overlapped into a roaring buzz, banners waved, and the air vibrated with anticipation.
The press area was packed.
Reporters clutched cameras and notebooks, jockeying for position. Some waited near the players' tunnel, hoping to catch a pre-game interview; others adjusted their lenses from prime seats, unwilling to miss a single decisive moment.
After all—
Today was special.
Every possession.
Every photograph.
Every word written down.
All of it would become part of Kanagawa high school basketball history.
This morning featured only one game:
Shoyo vs. Shohoku.
But its weight rivaled a final.
The winner would claim third place—and the last ticket to the National Tournament.
The loser would see their season end here.
As for the match everyone truly awaited—Ryonan vs. Kainan—it was scheduled for the afternoon.
A clash between the reigning king and the year's most terrifying challenger.
Aida Yayoi and her assistant, Nakamura, had arrived early.
As they scanned the packed stands, both showed clear surprise.
"It's still thirty minutes before the game," Nakamura muttered. "I thought most people would only show up for Ryonan vs. Kainan."
Aida nodded slowly. "Yet this place is already full."
She adjusted her glasses, her gaze sharpening.
"That alone proves how much attention these four teams command."
She continued thoughtfully, "Kainan and Shoyo have monopolized Kanagawa's top two spots for years. But this season is different. Ryonan and Shohoku have risen too quickly—too violently."
Her tone grew heavier.
"Shoyo has already lost twice—first to Kainan, then to Ryonan. Yesterday's fifty-point defeat must have been devastating."
She paused.
"And this is Fujima Kenji's final year."
Would he crumble under yesterday's humiliation?
Or would he stake everything on one last stand?
"This game," Aida said quietly, "is Shoyo's last lifeline."
Then her gaze shifted.
"And Shohoku… they're the biggest surprise of all. A former bottom-tier team that pushed Kainan to the brink. Their growth rate defies logic."
She smiled faintly.
"Today, we'll find out whether legacy or momentum prevails."
Players' Tunnel
Suddenly, the noise near the tunnel died down.
Two lines of players advanced from opposite sides.
On the left—Ryonan, clad in white.
On the right—Kainan, dressed in yellow and purple.
At the head of Ryonan walked Akashi Seijuro, his expression calm, his gaze sharp and distant.
Leading Kainan was Shinichi Maki—upright, imposing, every step radiating the authority of a long-reigning emperor.
They stopped at the same time.
Their eyes met.
No words were exchanged.
Yet an invisible current crackled between them.
Ryonan's presence felt like a blade half-drawn—restrained, but lethally sharp.
Kainan's aura was heavy and immovable, like an ancient mountain pressing down on all challengers.
The two forces collided silently.
Spectators nearby felt their breaths catch.
"That's Ryonan and Kainan…"
"Just standing there feels intense…"
"I can't wait for their match."
Even the surrounding noise seemed muted under the pressure.
Akashi raised his gaze slightly, his composure unwavering.
Maki narrowed his eyes, his dominance answering instinctively.
For a brief moment—
They were evenly matched.
Then, as if by unspoken agreement, both teams withdrew their pressure.
Maki spoke first.
"Akashi Seijuro," he said calmly, his eyes burning with resolve. "I look forward to our game."
No provocation.
Only acknowledgment.
Akashi paused, then turned back.
"Looking forward to it?" His tone was flat, emotionless.
"Then prove that anticipation has value."
He took a step forward, crimson eyes gleaming.
"But make no mistake."
"The outcome is already decided."
Silence.
Kainan's players stiffened, anger flaring.
Akashi gave them no further attention, turning and leading Ryonan away.
Kiyota Nobunaga clenched his fists. "That bastard—! Who does he think he is?!"
Maki placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Enough. Let's go."
As they walked away, no one noticed Maki's clenched fist—or the deepening seriousness in his eyes.
Akashi's presence unsettled him.
Too calm.
Too sharp.
A contradiction that bred danger.
10:00 AM
The whistle rang out.
Cheers erupted.
Shoyo vs. Shohoku had begun.
Shohoku's red uniforms and Shoyo's green emerged from the tunnels.
There was no retreat for either team.
Lose—and everything ends.
Ryonan's Seats
Sendo watched Sakuragi's warm-up dunk with interest.
"Shoyo vs. Shohoku, huh? Who do you think wins?"
"On paper, Shoyo," Koshino said thoughtfully. "But Shohoku nearly took down Kainan."
"In the practice match, both lost to us by fifty," Hikoichi said earnestly.
Ikegami sighed. "That Shohoku is ancient history. This Shohoku is a different beast."
Uozumi crossed his arms. "Until the final whistle, nothing's certain."
Sendo turned. "Akashi?"
Akashi's gaze remained fixed on the court.
"Shohoku is stronger," he said evenly. "They've already endured a baptism by fire against Kainan. Shoyo can no longer intimidate them."
A sharp whistle echoed.
The ball went up.
The final struggle—for the last national ticket—had begun.